Sons of Ironstorm - Book 3: New Alliance

Lay of the Land

Still in Aine's comforting embrace, Lawrence mutely nodded. Duncan retrieved his bedroll from the saddle of his horse and, moving stiffly as if he was suddenly decades older than he was, the dark prince eased himself to the ground beside the fire, his cloak tucked under his head as a pillow.

Sleep came swiftly, testament of how much energy he had expended that afternoon. One moment he was staring at the liquid dance of the fire's flames. And in the next his eyes closed of their own accord and he was swiftly descending into the land of dreams. Thankfully they were, other than the odd memory of Nerise and their brief time together, empty of haunting images.

That is, until the early Watches of the next morning. There, as memories of happier days shifted uneasily against each, including the scene down by the river in Tal Morun where Nerise was making her proposal to unify the Houses of Cadmon and Ironstorm that day seemingly so long ago, he felt a distinct intrusion into his thoughts. An eye blink later Lawrence was staring at a dark host of pale-skinned demons, marching in endless lines as they boarded great ships of black metal with their massive machines. 'The Return!' he realized with a cold flash of dread.

It was enough to jerk the big man to full awareness, bathed on cold sweat. For a long moment he stared at the sky, still a dark indigo blanket sprinkled with silvery star flecks overhead with just a hint of growing light from a rising Ri'im, as the dread echoed through him. After what seemed like a heart bursting eternity, he managed to take control of the fear and willed his breathing to slow. Then, with a long shuddering sigh, he rolled over and pushed himself up with his hands and legs. Feeling the darkness of the Return press with full force against his sensibilities even swathed in the sleep of the exhausted only illustrated his need to find himself back in the quest to find the Tree Staff, Talemonese and Mamran refugees, dark soldiers and wars of chaos notwithstanding.

If the Kaal Eran were to come north now, they would destroy humanity and every other mortal race on Reutha without remorse and he'd be powerless to stop them. Not even the wondrous sword recovered from the ruined city deep in the forests of the Gyren would do much to slow them. A Wielder-to-be, yes, but he was still horribly vulnerable to attack by the Shadow. The assault on the breeding pit had first shown him that vulnerability, along with what could happen to him after completely draining his reserves of energy and coming face to face with a magic caster.

The big human grimaced at that. Osteon had almost proved their end, casting powerful enough magic to throw him around like a rag doll. Only the brave sacrifice of a handful of dark elf warriors had allowed Will and him to escape. With his connection to the Tree Staff abruptly strained because of that battle, and the Tree no longer present in his mind, Lawrence didn't know if he'd be able to draw on her power the next time he ran into a magic caster working for the enemy.

Now this most recent attack only further emphasized that vulnerability. Magically cloaked, a company of Tjor'riin nearly killed them all yesterday when they attacked out of their ambush. As it were, the dark soldiers inflicted heavy casualties before he managed to kill the last of them. And some of those losses were greater than others.

Jaw rippling with sudden tension at that thought, Lawrence walked stiff legged to the edge of their small camp to stare at the pile of ash barely visible across the road in the slowly growing light. It marked where they burned the caravan's remains the day before, the scent of charred wood still strong enough for him to smell it.

The shadow soldiers surging through the Gyren had done that, and almost at will. Knowing the Kaal Eran could and would do far worse only sent his blood humming through his veins. Filled with an abrupt need to do something, anything, Lawrence returned to camp to pick up his sword and sling it over his back hunter style before joining Duncan by the fire, the Tobald Airna captain mulling the fire with a stick at the tail end of his watch, his naked sword across his knees. With a brief nod to the Mamran when he turned to see who was approaching, the big man stepped outside the meager ring of light cast by the dying fire and into the darkness of the Gyren. Daylight was already burning; he needed to do something before he burst!